


The King's Guard

by the-eagle-of-masyaf (Dunkelherz)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dark, Developing Relationship, Gore, M/M, Mrasayf, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence, king AU, kingdom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkelherz/pseuds/the-eagle-of-masyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The king's dead and Malik was determined to keep chaos from rising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrasayf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mrasayf).



 

Inspired by [mrasayf's](http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/) AU

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The king was dead.

 

Malik made his way through the halls, his long steps echoing from the high walls around him. He was passing guards, all of them wearing indifferent faces looking straight ahead, not acknowledging him as if he wasn't really there. It was quiet in the palace as if a blanket had fallen all upon them, wrapping them in silence. Malik knew the king's guards wouldn't speak the news, but their were the servants and rumors spread faster among them than a wildfire. Comes morning everybody would know and Malik was determined to keep chaos from rising. The king was dead and there were too many people who'd like to follow his steps, falling into the palace like vultures trying to get their hands on that crown. There was only one true successor but all those minions didn't care about that. The king's corpse wasn't even cold yet and this was probably the most dangerous time for his heir and Malik would be damned if he let anything happen to him.

 

He reached the end of the hall and his steps didn't slow down, the two guards protecting the king's private quarters pulling the heavy doors open to let him pass. There were already several people in there, all mustered around the king's bed. The flames were still rising high in the fireplace, the sweet scent of tea lingering in the air along with something else, something he couldn't quite put his fingers on yet. Malik let his eyes roam quickly over the crowd. There was the king's maid, sobbing still with a man standing by her side, patting her back in what was supposed to be a comforting manner. The king's personal healer sitting on his bed, touching the dead body's neck and wrist as if he was still looking for signs of life in his body, a boy who was his apprentice and who looked rather disturbed and a little ill and the king's personal counselor, walking back and forth like a trapped animal. When he noticed Malik, his eyes bore with anger into him.

 

“You”, he barked at Malik and held up one finger, pointing at him. “What purpose does the king's guardian have if he isn't there the night in which the king's murdered?”

 

Malik stopped and stood straight, his hands falling behind his back and he looked at him across the tip of his nose. “My duties don't and have never involved to watch over the king's sleep”, he simply said. “Especially not when he sought his privacy”, he added and tipped his head a bit, his voice a few octaves lower now. It was warm in the chamber, sweat was already starting to trickle down his back. His dark robes felt a bit too heavy tonight, the blue fabric clinging to his body in an uncomfortable way. He didn't like this, standing in front of all these people with their eyes turned towards him. He preferred the shadows, he _was_ a shadow. Trained for years to move like one, to always be present but never been seen, to serve the king in silence, to protect the king till death. He hated being out in the open like that.

 

“You _are_ the palace's eyes and ears, _king's guard_ ”, Machiavelli hissed. He was standing close, too close with just a breath separating them and Malik's hands turned into fists behind his back. “You've failed.”

 

He was saying what everyone in the room was thinking, the healer and his apprentice looking up at them and Malik gritted his teeth. Machiavelli wasn't speaking lies and that was probably the biggest blow to Malik's ego. He  _failed_ . He'd sworn to protect the king, to fight with his live for his safety and now he was dead. Malik had failed. He knew that, Machiavelli knew that and everybody else in the room knew that as well. 

 

“You know what waits for those who fail their duties at the king's service, don't you?”, Machiavelli whispered and Malik could tell he enjoyed this – he'd never approved of Malik's existence, he'd rather seen him hang and burn. It seemed as Machiavelli would get his wish now.

 

“I do my lord”, Malik said underneath a thick swallow. 

 

Machiavelli stood a bit more straight, trying to win more height although that was impossible, he was still shorter than Malik. “Those who fail their duties or abandon them will face the same fate as those who stand against the crown and will meet the same punishment as traitors will”, Machiavelli spoke the king's law. “Death by the noose.”

 

“I beg your pardon my lord”, Malik shook his head, the sobs of the maiden turning quieter now as she witnessed the scene unfolding in the king's chamber. “But I swore my service to the king's life-”

 

“And the king is dead!”, Machiavelli roared like a wild boar. 

 

“-and to the life of his family. The king's dead, yes”, he said and bowed his head with respect. “But I still live to protect his son.” 

 

Malik watched all sorts of emotions wash across Machiavelli's face, from pure shock to raw unleashed hate. “That's-”

 

“That's the law, my lord”, Malik told him simply. 

 

Machiavelli's nostrils flared as he took deep breaths through his nose. Malik watched a little satisfied, happy with himself he could take the joy out of Machiavelli's hand and put him back on the same ground as Malik stood on. “That's the king's law”, Machiavelli spoke slowly, “and the king's dead.” He took a deep breath, taking a step closer still so his chest could touch Malik's. “And your fate will be decided with our new king.” He paused a moment, eyes boring into Malik's. “Let's hope the king's son lives long enough to feel the crown on his head. I've heard the boy has a soft spot for you.”

 

“I've heard he has a guardian who's sworn to protect him”, Malik answered coolly. “As long as I live he has nothing to fear.”

 

“You've failed his father”, Machiavelli simply said. “There's no guarantee you don't fail him too.” Machiavelli took a step back, turning around towards the healer. “If there are any news what has caused his death, you will tell me”, he instructed. “As the king's right hand, I am forced by law to take over the king's affairs.” He looked at everybody in the room and in the end, set his eyes on Malik. “Until there's a new king found”, he added eventually before making his way out of the room.

 

There was a long pause of silence, all eyes on Malik and eventually, he took a step forwards and went over to the king's bed, the healer watching every of his move. He looked down at the dead man, his gaze roaming over his body. The blankets had been pushed back to reveal his body, his clothes were all in place, the expression on his face almost... peaceful. There was no blood, nothing that would make one think there had been a fight. “Poison?”, Malik asked eventually and let his fingertips brush along the king's arm and up to his shoulder, feeling for a pulse on his neck as if he didn't believe he was really dead.

 

“Probably”, the healer said and reached up to the king's face and parted the dead man's lips. “The color of his tongue”, he said and looked up at Malik, sounding a bit uncertain, a bit frightened – but that was just the effect Malik had on other people. “And his mouth... it's too dry.” The healer sighed. “His death wasn't caused by natural circumstances, that's for sure.”

 

“Did he have anything to eat before going to bed?”, Malik asked and now he looked up at the maid who was still standing there, shaking and crying silently. She shook her head when he sat his gaze on her. He couldn't blame the woman. Malik knew she wasn't crying for the king – she was crying for herself. If the murderer was not found it was very likely she would be the one who'd be hanged in the end since she'd been the last to see the king alive. After all, people always wanted justice and Malik knew, the palace would have to present a culprit, no matter if they were the real murderer or not. “Anything to drink?”, Malik kept on pondering and again, she shook her head. “Visitors?”, he asked. He watched how she remained still, her quiet sobs stopping but eventually, she shook her head again and Malik sighed. He felt the healer's gaze on him. “Somebody should tell the prince”, he said. Machiavelli wasn't the right person to bring the news, after all.

 

 

xxx

 

 

The sun was about to rise when Malik waited to be allowed to enter the prince's room. The palace was slowly awakening, the first servants making their way through the halls. There were whispers in the shadows about a murderer being among them, that the king was dead, poisoned. The gate had been closed, nobody was allowed in or out – everybody knew what was going on, Malik wasn't fool enough to think they could hide the king's death.

 

The door opened, the prince looking at Malik who in return greeted him with a bow of his head and entered before he could be invited.

 

“What-” The prince looked at him, dark circles underneath his eyes. He already knew, Machiavelli had probably told him before the news could have even reached Malik's ear. The prince looked tired, hair tousled and his face pale. Malik walked past him with long steps, crouching down next to his bed to look underneath it, then poured himself a glass of water only to not drink it but smell it. He looked behind all the curtains then took a look into the prince's private bathroom before returning to the main room. 

 

“Machiavelli has told you”, Malik said and he watched the shoulders of his prince slumping. The boy made his way over to the bed and sat heavily down on it. “Yes”, he nodded and his voice was a lot calmer than his looks. 

 

“Whoever killed your father will kill you as well”, Malik said and went over to the wardrobe only to pull it open. It seemed as if he randomly picked some clothes but he did not. He quickly looked through them and picked the ones he thought the prince would need the most, then decided it was all useless and abandoned his task. “What are you doing?”, his prince asked. His voice was small, a lot smaller than what he looked like. Malik almost felt pity for him.

 

“I'm doing what I've sworn to your father – I protect you.” He went to one of the windows and pulled the curtain away, looking outside. Malik was restless – it wasn't safe in the palace. With the gates down and no one allowed inside or outside, he felt like a trapped animal. He felt vulnerable. The murderer was out there and Malik didn't know who it was when they probably knew Malik very well. It irked him to no end.

 

“Why did they kill him?”, his prince eventually asked, swallowing down his tears – Malik could hear it in his voice. 

 

“So they can kill you”, Malik said as his eyes roamed across the world outside, noticing everybody passing the courtyard, entering and exiting it. When he didn't hear Altair answering, he turned around.

 

“You think his murderer will have mercy with you now?” Malik cocked an eyebrow at the boy. “Don't be a fool.” 

 

The prince opened and closed his mouth a couple of times and Malik watched how sorrow was replaced by simple anger, a much more uncontrollable emotion, much more dangerous. “Machiavelli told me it's your fault”, he said and crossed his arms in front of his chest – that made him look older than he really was and Malik knew he'd picked it up from some of the guards. At only thirteen years old, Altair was an easy target – he realized that more and more now.

 

“Machiavelli doesn't know shit”, Malik snorted and Altair gasped at that. 

 

He crossed the distance between them and crouched down in front of Altair. “I'm going to give you a choice”, he said very slowly. After all, Machiavelli was right, Altair did have a soft spot for Malik although he tried his hardest not to show it. He'd always admired his father's personal guard and Malik knew Altair had more often than not sneaked out of his bedroom to watch Malik train late in the evening. “The only choice you will ever get”, he added. “Whoever killed your father, will kill you too”, he repeated very slowly this time. “And you can stay here and hope I can protect you.” He saw how Altair narrowed his eyes, thinking deeply. “Which I can't. Not here. This place is full of traitors, always has been.” He paused a moment. “Or you come with me and I bring you to a place where you're safe.”

 

“Where's that?”, Altair asked and now he finally sounded the age he really was, frightened and scared.

 

“I bring you to my people. Away from here, far in the desert.” 

 

“You'll bring me into the desert?”

 

Malik nodded, slowly. “Yes.”

 

“And I'm save there?”

 

Again, Malik nodded.

 

“That doesn't make any sense”, Altair said with a frown. “Machiavelli says-”

 

“Listen, _boy_ , he doesn't know anything. He probably-” But Malik cut himself off. This wasn't anything he wanted to talk about with a kid. Especially not with a kid who's father has just been murdered. Altair looked at him – he could tell the kid didn't trust him but who was he to blame? “I've failed your father”, he said eventually. “You're right about that. I wasn't the one poisoning him. And I'm not the one who's after your life.” He looked at him. “Your father cared about you. He once took me in as his son, I-” He owed him that much. He owed him to look after his son, to make sure he was alright, to protect him. After all he'd done for Malik this was the least he could do for the man. He'd sworn to do so, the law told him to do so.

 

He watched Altair. “I want to stay...”, the boy said.

 

Malik sighed and rubbed his face. “Listen, if you don't come with me-” He reached out to grab Altair by the shoulder.

 

“If you touch me I'll scream”, Altair said and he looked sharply at Malik. “I will scream”, he said again, softer this time but his voice held the same threat. 

 

Malik fell back, his hand coming back down again. He cooked his head to one side. “Alright”, he said, his eyes narrowed and stern. Because he wouldn't beg him – he wouldn't beg anyone, not even his prince, not even the boy he'd sworn to protect. “As you wish, my  _prince._ ”

 

 

xxx

 

 

It was late when he reached the king's private library. The word had spread and the whole palace knew about the king's death. Whispers were spoken in the dark, the servants afraid of who else might die by the murderer's hand. Malik thought it was ridiculous. They were so worried about themselves, they clearly forgot who they really had to worry about.

 

Malik knocked at the door but he didn't wait for an answer and simply entered. The candles were lit but the fireplace was cold. Machiavelli stood in the middle of the room, behind the big table which could easily host a dozen people if needed. Malik had never understood what purpose it served in the library.

 

“My lord”, he greeted Machiavelli and the man turned around, slowly coming towards Malik.

 

“You wear the robes of a noble man, _eagle_ ”, Machiavelli said and circled Malik as if he was his prey. “But we both know you're not”, he muttered as he eventually stopped in front of him, his head a bit high so he could look at Malik from across the tip of his nose. “The king was a fool”, he sighed. “For making a slave his personal guard. I've wondered what he has ever seen in you because all I see when I look at you,” his lips curled into a sly smile and he didn't finish his sentence but instead crossed his wrists behind his back turning it towards Malik – he must be so full of himself, Malik thought, to present himself like that. He could so easily push a knife in between his shoulder blades. “And now he's dead. What a tragedy for our kingdom.” He walked over to the small cabinet and opened it, taking a bottle and a glass from it and placed both in front of him on the table. “There will be a new king in ten days, after a respectful time of mourning”, he hummed as he poured himself a glass with an amber liquid. “And it's going to be Altair.”

 

“The boy will be dead before he can even climb that throne”, Malik said. 

 

“Yes, I know”, Machiavelli nodded and picked up the glass, looking at its content. “Because you will fail him just as well, won't you? Just like how you've failed his father.”

 

“I've sworn by my life to protect the king”, Malik said through gritted teeth. “I hold no part in his death.”

 

“Except you do”, Machiavelli said and smelled the liquid. “You weren't there. He died right in front of your eyes.”

 

It made Malik's blood boil and it took everything, all of his willpower to not leash out and strike Machiavelli down. “You know I couldn't be there even if I've wanted to.”

 

Machiavelli chuckled. “Yes I know. You know,  _eagle_ , you claim to always have your eyes and ears everywhere but when it came to our king's fucking you've turned deaf and blind. And look what happened...” 

 

Malik's right hand turned into a fist. “Our king was an honorable man, you don't speak about him-”

 

“I speak the truth, we both know it.” Machiavelli took a sip of his drink, looked at the glass with mild surprise, then swallowed. 

 

“I can't protect the boy here. The king's murderer is still out there, they won't stop now.”

 

“Altair's the only heir”, Machiavelli said. “If he dies so will his father's name. There will be a new king, a new family-”

 

“The family who paid the highest price for the king's murderer”, Malik cut him off. 

 

“You will be hanged for treason if the wrong people here that”, he said.

 

“I will be hanged anyway if there will be a new king. You've said so yourself”, Malik said and stood a little straighter, pulling his shoulders up. 

 

Machiavelli grinned as he sat down and the chair looked way to big for him with its high back. It was a chair for a king after all and not for the king's adviser. “And I will be sitting in the front row to witness it.”

 

“It's sound like as if you'd know the boy will be dead soon.”

 

“I'm realistic, that's all.”

 

“Then you should double the guards protecting him.”

 

“It's a waste really”, Machiavelli said and brushed Malik off with a motion of his hand, then stood up again, the glass forgotten on the table. “We both know he won't stand a chance.” He made his way towards Malik and stopped at his level.

 

“And you're not even trying to save his life”, Malik said through gritted teeth.

 

“Like I said”, Machiavelli said in a low voice, close to Malik's ear. “I'm realistic. My loyalty lies with the king and our king is dead and I know, the boy won't live long enough to be our next one.” He patted Malik's shoulder and the touch felt like poison to his skin, eating through his flesh and bones. 

 

When the door fell into its lock again, Malik relaxed and pulled his hood down.

 

“You can come out now”, he said to the empty room. “I know you're there and believe me when I say you don't want me to get you.”

 

Eventually, the door of one of the cabinets opened. Inside was Altair, head between his shoulders and legs pulled up to his chest so he could fit in there. He slowly crawled out, groaning in pain as he moved his stiff muscles again.

 

“How did you know I was there?”, he asked as he slowly stood and Malik looked at him.

 

“Sometimes you have to see with your mind, not your eyes”, he simply said.

 

Altair looked confused. He didn't understand, of course he didn't – Malik would explain it to him, when he was older. When he was with  _his_ people. 

 

Malik turned around about to leave the library. “Wait”, Altair said quickly. “Is it true? About what he said?”

 

Malik nodded.

 

“And what... what will you do about it?”, Altair pondered, frightened.

 

“As long as you stay here, your fate's sealed”, Malik said without turning around. “There's nothing I can do for you so I will simply try to save my own life.”

 

“You leave me here?”

 

“It was your choice to stay wasn't it?” Malik looked over his shoulder, a grim smile standing on his lips. “Touch me or I'll scream”, he mocked the boy. Malik turned back around, about to leave when he felt a weight on his robes and he looked down at the small hand holding the fabric clutched between small fingers.

 

“I wanna come with you”, Altair said. “Machiavelli, he's evil.”

 

“Smart boy aren't you?”, Malik muttered. 

 

“Please”, Altair said. “I want to live.”

 

And that was all Malik really needed to hear.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“When can I come out?”

 

“When I tell you it's safe”, Malik said and put the plate with stew in front of Altair. He glanced at him as he sat down, his legs crossed underneath him. The boy's hair had gotten long, his skin pale due to the lack of seeing sun. Malik made sure he had enough fruit so he wouldn't get sick – they'd be leaving soon, after all. “I don't see you eating”, Malik said as he caught Altair staring at him. “Eat”, he grunted with a nod at the plate, steam still rising from the warm food.

 

“I'm not hungry”, Altair said and pushed the plate a little away from him, staring sternly at it with a grumpy face.

 

“What did I tell you about lies?”, Malik sighed and shifted his weight, his back resting against the high wall, the stones cool and a bit damp. He'd never thought he'd hide a prince in his own palace.

 

Altair didn't answer but instead pressed his lips tightly together. “I'd rather not cut your tongue off”, Malik said in an almost bored tone as he watched his fingernails before he sat his glance sharply on Altair.

 

“You said you'd never harm me”, Altair said, his voice smaller a bit frightened even.

 

“Doesn't mean I won't punish you for misbehaving. You're a prince, not a spoiled brat”, Malik said and pointed back to the plate. “Eat.”

 

Eventually, Altair accepted the food reluctantly and pulled it carefully towards himself, starting to eat slowly. In the end, he was almost ravishing the food with how hungry he was. Malik watched him without really seeing Altair. It been three months since his father's dead and Malik had done the only thing possible in such a situation. He'd re-opened the doors to the old catacombs beneath the palace, they hadn't been used in centuries and to some they were almost forgotten which came now in handy to Malik. A long time ago, when the country was stricken by war, the catacombs had been used to move food and weapons when troops had been station in front of the gates, trying to starve the people. It was almost like a city of its own underneath the earth, in times of battles soldiers have slept here, smugglers had made their own hidden spaces and rooms. But there war had ended a long, long time ago and the tunnels held no longer any use. There weren't many people knowing about them, only a handful of people still living who did – one of them being Malik. It'd been risky, Malik knew that, to hide the boy here where they could have looked first for him. But they didn't, since Machiavelli was an idiot who was after the throne himself and didn't have much interest to really find the boy. Now all Malik wanted to do was to wait for fall to come, when the sun wasn't burning earth anymore and he could Altair carefully move through the desert.

 

“When can I come out?”, Altair asked again, cutting right through Malik's train of thoughts and pulling him back to the surface of reality.

 

“When it's safe”, Malik told him once more, flexing his fingers of the hand he wore his hidden blade.

 

“When's that?”

 

“When you stop asking”, Malik growled, the blade coming to live and snapping out of its mechanism. It did the trick of shutting Altair up though. “I need you strong and healthy when we cross the desert, alright? I can't carry a whining and crying boy the whole time.”

 

“I don't cry!”, Altair snapped at him and it was good to see he was still as feisty as ever, as Malik remembered him from better days. “And I don't whine”, he added with a huff.

 

“I take that as a promise then. I won't be able to take a horse with me when we leave-”

 

“Why not?” Altair leaned forwards, his hands rubbing along his knees. At times, so it seemed to Malik, it was as if Altair had already forgotten about the danger he was really in. To the boy it was just one big adventure. Which was good for Malik, it took Altair's thoughts off and away from his grief.

 

Malik rose one hand and held up a single finger. “Rule number one boy”, he said carefully. “Hide in plain sight. Never be seen.” He paused a moment, then added, “Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd. A horse causes quite the opposite”, he explained and Altair blinked up at him, soaking his words in like a dried up sponge. “Who've told you that?”, he pondered.

 

“A wise man”, Malik murmured and his eyes turned distant, the memories of a lost life playing in his memories, black and white pictures of days he'd tried to forget dipped into color again.

 

“Who?”, Altair asked once more and Malik suddenly stood, the boy sitting to his feet looking up at him expectingly.

 

“It's evening”, Malik told him instead since Altair hadn't seen the sun in weeks now. He didn't want him to lose his sense for time. “I will come back to you in the morning. Turn down the light or the oil won't last for tomorrow.” He turned around, moving for the door and his fingers wrapped around the handle when he felt a weight pulling at his pants and he looked down. Altair was on all fours, leaning forwards with one arm stretched and hands curled into the fabric of Malik's trousers. “Do you really have to go?”, Altair asked.

 

Malik looked down on him, followed the line of Altair's arm to his eyes. With a shake of Malik's leg Altair let go and the door fell with a heavy thud back into its lock.

 

 

xxx

 

 

“Have the men returned yet?”, Machiavelli asked as Malik entered the Great Hall – at least the man was sitting on the table down to the throne's feet instead of sitting on it.

 

Malik walked slowly up to him, hands behind his back. The thick fabric of his dark robes were falling in long waves down his body, his sword resting heavily on his hip and it gave him a comforting feeling especially when he was facing Machiavelli. Not wearing weapons in front of the man made him feel naked, vulnerable. “They have, my lord.”

 

Machiavelli looked up at him as he leaned back in his chair. He made a welcoming gesture. “And?”

 

“They found nothing.”

 

And Machiavelli simply waved him off. “You're wasting your time, I keep telling you.”

 

“Our king's missing, shouldn't you be a bit concerned about it?”, Malik asked as he slowly placed his hands in front of his body, clasping his wrists, shoulders tense and chin high up.

 

“He run away before he could become our king”, he told Malik and drummed his fingers onto the polished surface of the table. “Our king's dead.” He looked up at Malik. “We need a new one.”

 

“The law says-”, Malik started but was cut off as Machiavelli quickly stood up, the chair screeching loudly against the floor as he pushed it back so fast it toppled over and fell to the ground.

 

“I know what the law says”, he said in a much quieter voice. “But it's not what this city needs right now. We need a king.”

 

“We need to find the king's murder.”

 

“We've found the king's murder”, Machiavelli told him with a blink of his eyes.

 

“You know that woman hasn't done it”, Malik said calmly. “She's nothing but a poor maid, she-”

 

“She was punished for her crime.”

 

“She was innocent.”

 

Machiavelli glared at Malik but eventually, his lips pulled up into a sly smile. “Great words for a man who has so little”, he spoke slowly. “The prince has been gone for almost three months now. The people are waiting. They want their prince back, dead or alive... You're running out of time, Eagle.”

 

“I am the King's Guard”, Malik said with his head cocked to one side. “As long as I don't bury that boy myself, I will stay loyal to my duties.”

 

“You're a brave man, I have to admit that”, Machiavelli said. He offered Malik a glare, “But a stupid one. The people will ask for your head soon.” His lips twitched and Malik thought it looked like as if Machiavelli was trying to hide a grin and didn't succeed. “You're the reason their beloved king's gone. You're the one who failed him, them – and the city. Everybody in this city hates you, Eagle. If I were you, I'd be careful where I walk at nights.”

 

“I'm perfectly able to look after myself but thank you for your advice, my lord”, Malik simply told him and bowed his head with a small nod although he knew it was true but he needed to keep his act up till the last minute – if he acted to quickly he'd made himself suspicious and people were already watching him... He couldn't afford any more eyes following every of his moves.

 

“Is there anything more, Eagle?” Machiavelli eyed him from head to toe and Malik's fingers curled around the hem of his hood, pulling it up and putting his face back into shadows.

 

“No my lord.”

 

“Then you may leave”, Machiavelli told him and Malik offered a small nod again although that man didn't deserve any of his respect.

 

“And if I may suggest”, Machiavelli called after him when Malik almost reached the heavy oak doors. “The only friends you have in this city are those you pay – I think some of the whores might welcome you still”, he chuckled and Malik gritted his teeth, leaving the man behind him.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Night has fallen over the palace and the city but from his room, Malik could still hear the city wide awake, people moving through the streets, talking, laughing, drinking. Malik was as just awake as the people, standing at his window sill overlooking the court to his feet, watching the guard walking up and down the high walls surrounding them. He knew Machiavelli was right, people weren't meeting him with a friendly eye – and he knew they had every right to hate him too. Their king had been a good man, a king and gentle man who knew how to rule and how to be fair. Despite his gentleness, he hadn't been soft. He'd known how to wield a punishment just as well as how to serve justice. People had simply loved him and his death had been catastrophic.

 

The king's life had been his responsibility, there was no excuse for his failure.

 

He leaned forwards, the breeze of the wind crawling along his skin like the soft legs of a spider. The nights were cold and it would probably just take a few more weeks before the first snow would fall high in the mountains. Fall was rising and the summer slowly dying, he'd have to move Altair soon. He leaned with elbows heavily on the window sill, groaning.

 

“Come up here”, he said and the woman kneeling to his knees stopped, her lips making an audible 'plop' as she let go of his dick, cheeks flushed and long strands of hair coming loose from her bun on top of her head. She stood gracefully, her night gown shifted and revealing one pale shoulder. She was from the north, her skin almost as white as snow with bright hair and delicate lips which went wonderful with her blue eyes. She was exotic through and through and Malik found it interesting.

 

He took her wrist and turned her around, the fast and sudden movement making her squeal with excitement and joy before he put his hand on her neck, pushing her down carefully so she was bent over the window sill. He positioned himself behind her and pushed his robes away as well as moving her night gown up almost to her shoulders, revealing the round cheeks of her butt and running his fingers across her skin. He thought she was a great actress, quivering and squirming underneath as if she was actually looking forward to it when in truth, she was probably bored out of her mind, just waiting for the part where he'd give her his money and she could finally. This was business and nothing else and he put his hand in between her legs, feeling how far she was before he pushed into her with one quick motion.

 

She was quiet during the act, mostly and he wasn't even sure if she'd come once he'd finished but it wasn't as if it mattered anyway. He let her lick him clean before pushing the money into her hands and let her go.

 

He didn't feel satisfied as he overlooked the city once more, slowly pulling his robes down his shoulders to put them away for the night. The urge was gone, his body no longer restless. He was a man after all and every now and then, even Malik needed release. Malik needed to think and he knew, he couldn't really afford these kind of distractions but in the end he'd given into the craving. His thoughts had never really left Machiavelli or Altair while he'd fucked the whore and now they were back on his mind in bright and vivid colors.

 

Malik knew his plan was risky, not only for Altair but for his own life. He needed to wait a little longer for the days to become cooler, Altair wasn't fit enough to cross the desert in the middle of summer and yet, he couldn't wait much longer before Machiavelli would let take Malik under arrest. Families from all over the country where already traveling towards the city, the first ones would arrive soon. One of those families would hold the new king and as former advisor of the king, Machiavelli was now in the position of the crown's keeper. It'd be him who would play an important role of who'd be the new king and maybe, if he was stupid enough, he'd turn it so he could become the new one himself.

 

Malik pursed his lips. If he'd vanish too soon, it'd look suspicious, some people already accusing him of having a hand in the king's murder. If he'd wait too long, he might end up in a cell waiting for the noose to close around his throat. He'd have to wait for the perfect moment – and it'd be only a small time window. Everything had to be perfect, everything had to be prepared.

 

Malik just wondered, if he was prepared himself for what was yet to come.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Altair was gone.

 

Malik looked around the small room and blinked a few times but he wouldn't wake from this nightmare. Altair was _gone_ and that small fact alone was enough to destroy all of his plans. His fingers turned to a tight fist, his jaw hurt from gritting his teeth and his knuckles met the door with a load bang, the wood cracking underneath the force and it hurt, but pain was something that'd pass and Malik ignored it.

 

Altair was gone and it made things only more complicated. He'd worked for this day to come for weeks now, all preparations had been made and tonight wasn't perfect for them to escape but it was the best chance they'd ever get and now Altair was simply gone. Malik thought things couldn't get honestly worse.

 

He cursed all of the seven gods and the lord of the netherworlds all together and wet his fingers with a bit of spittle to extinguish the light of the last burning candle in the room, everything around him falling into darkness immediately and Malik took a deep breath, stilling his thoughts from jumping from conclusion to conclusion before he knew all the facts. He tried to remember all his training and when his heart stopped racing in his chest, Malik opened his eyes, the shapes becoming clearer and glowed in a soft blue and white. There were leftovers of Altair's presence hanging in the air like a ghost waiting to walk from this world into the netherworld but other than that, Malik couldn't make out any tracks of someone else.

 

He narrowed his eyes and set his focus onto the floor. He saw where Altair had walked around, where he'd sit and where he'd slept. Tracks were leaving outside and Malik stepped back out and into the hall. The one torch he'd brought was trembling in his presence but its flames were a mixture of blue and gray now. He watched the memories of long past ones still moving around in the catacombs, soldiers running to bring new armor and weapons, women and children fleeing through the tunnels, the old and sick ones who were too weak to make it outside dying against the walls forgotten by everyone passing them. But no Altair.

 

It was as if the boy had just vanished.

 

Malik breathed again, eyes rolling back and he closed them for a brief second. When he opened them again the orange hue of the torch was illuminating the dark tunnels ahead and behind him. If Altair had been foolish enough to flee further into the catacombs then he was already lost and dead. One who didn't know the way through them was damned to die within them – there were too many tunnels, too many dead ends... People had gotten easily lost within the catacombs walls in the past and Malik remembered, a few decades ago it had been common punishment for murderer and rapists to be thrown into the tunnels, left alone to wander around in the darkness until they'd find death. But if he'd chosen to take the way back into the city then there were only two options possible. One, Altair made it back save and found a place to hide from the guards. Two, he'd made it back to the city and was found by Machiavelli's men and then Malik didn't know what would happen to him. Those were the only two options Malik could follow at the moment – he hoped the boy hasn't been foolish enough to choose the catacombs but then again, Altair was only a child.

 

Malik made his way back into the palace.

 

It was early in the morning, the busiest time of the whole day. Merchants were coming out preparing their stalls with fresh food, women were cleaning out the night's leftovers, farmers were up to drive their cattle through the streets and out into the fields. It was by far not the ideal time to make it out of the city but it was the one were most people were blind on their eyes, still tired from a too short night's sleep and busy enough with their thoughts about a new upcoming day. The guards were changing their shifts, too, and Malik knew there was a small time window in which the night shift would have to give a small oral protocol of what had or hadn't happen during their watch. It was a small opportunity but a big enough one for Malik to escape with a boy through the city gates.

 

If Altair hadn't ruin his plan.

 

Now, all Malik could really do was to get to his one informant he trusted to see what news he had, if there was a rumor of a long lost prince to be found again or of a dead boy fished out of the catacombs.

 

He didn't get the chance though.

 

He could feel the man's presence long before the big hand came down on his shoulder to keep him from further walking, pushing down a little to remind him of the mountain of a man standing behind, a gesture that made clear you better not make any wrong movements. “A king's guard wandering around the city when his presence is needed within the king's walls”, he said and Malik closed his eyes before he turned around, facing him and a pair of two other guards standing behind the first one.

 

“Has the prince been found?” Malik asked, his voice as indifferent as it could get.

 

“Machiavelli is asking for you.”

 

“Last time I saw him I remember him to be the king's advisor”, Malik explained.

 

“You seem to have a bad memory, Eagle”, the man said and his hand fell from Malik's shoulder and back to the hilt of his sword, his thumb brushing almost lovingly across it. “If you would follow us, please?”

 

It wasn't really a question but an order. Malik cocked his head to one side, pulling up his hood. “If the king's advisor wishes so”, he muttered and wasn't surprised when he was framed by the two guards, accompanying him back to the palace and every step made him feel as if it would bring him closer to the end.

 

 

xxx

 

 

“The king's dead”, Machiavelli said as he stood in front of the high window, overlooking the court to his feet. The sun was slowly climbing the sky, dipping the clouds into a light purple and orange. It almost looked like a peaceful day was about to come.

 

“The prince is missing”, Malik said with a shake of his head.

 

“I declared him dead this night, Eagle”, Machiavelli muttered and it got Malik's attention. His mouth run a little dry but his face reminded stoic and bitter. “You found the prince's body?” he asked and Machiavelli turned towards him, his face drawn into deep frowns and wrinkles. He looked old, older than he did when the king was still alive and Malik wondered if that's what the greed for power did to you, sucking the very life out of your veins.

 

“I found proof of his decease”, Machiavelli explained and he gave a little nod, one of the guards hiding in the shadows next to the big oak doors taking a step forwards.

 

Much had changed within the king's chambers. The bed didn't even look like as if somebody had been sleeping in it and Malik would find it to no surprise if Machiavelli refused to take the king's private chambers at night – if anything, the man was probably consumed by his believes with the netherworlds, their ghosts still roaming earth with the king's shadow still lingering within these walls. It was ridiculous but nothing being frowned upon in this part of the country. Malik found it amusing; a man ready to take a dead king's crown and put it upon his own head before the body was even cold, yet too afraid to sleep in a dead man's bed because of his ghost still wandering around.

 

The guard pulled something out from behind his back and spread it across the bed. The sheets were the best in the whole kingdom, embroideries decorating the fabric, rich golden flowers crossing a sea of silk and ending in a dark blue. Malik could imagine how soft the silk was without even touching it and that it was ruined the second the blood stained robe was put upon it. It was fresh, the blood looking almost black and it left stains behind on the king's bed but Malik recognized the fabric within a second. The robe was torn, stained with dirt down from the catacombs, sweat from weeks clinging to it and it smelled of Altair.

 

“The king's dead”, Machiavelli said once more as he crossed the distant from the windows to the bed and looked at the robe, refusing to touch them or even pick them up, a disgusted snarl on his lips. “And in seven days, we'll have a new one, a rightful one.”

 

“You speak against the king's law”, Malik said calmly and crossed his hands behind his back, chin up.

 

Altair was dead.

 

“I _am_ the law.” Machiavelli snatched the robe from the bed and held them clenched in his fist.

 

“One might even think it could have been you poisoning the king's wine”, Malik kept on, unimpressed.

 

He'd failed.

 

“One might even think you're speaking of treason.” Machiavelli threw the robes to Malik's feet, his lips pulled back into an angry snarl.

 

Altair was dead.

 

“I'll be king in seven days”, Machiavelli said and stepped over the robes to stop closely in front of Malik and as he was a bit shorter than him, had to tip his head back to meet Malik's gaze. “And as the new king, I will present the king's murderer and hand him over to his rightful punishment.”

 

Altair was dead.

 

“You can't declare yourself as king without a proper election”, Mail said.

 

“Law's changed.” He wore a bitter sweet smile on his lips. “I can declare myself as king and I will. Just as I will bring you to the hands of an executor without a trail.”

 

“You think I killed the king?” Malik rose one elegant eyebrow and crossed his arms in front of his chest. This was getting ridiculous. “You already put that woman in front of-“ He knew Machiavelli had been after the crown ever singe they'd found the king dead in his bed – but there has been a time where the man was different, an actual advisor to the king and while not exactly a friend to Malik, he respected him as the king's guard.

 

“I don't think you've killed the king”, Machiavelli said with a shook of his head. “But the kingdom will think you did it”, he added and made a motion with his hand, two guards stepping away from the door to frame Malik from each side. “Because I tell them you did it.” He turned away, his hand up as he made a rotating motion with it. “You're no longer in the king's duty. Give those men your blade and weapons and you stand a chance they will treat you well in prison.”

 

His eyes bore in Machiavelli's back. If he'd known it’d come to this, maybe he'd cut his throat in his sleep. Maybe...

 

“Are you really that stupid?” Malik asked as they guards took of his crossbow and sword, his row of throwing knifes next before one knelt down and pulled a dagger out of his boot. “Have they never told you, you can't kill an eagle?”

 

Machiavelli looked at Malik over his shoulder, the guards grabbing him by his arms. He saw a glint in Machiavelli's eyes and a row of teeth as he smiled. “Watch me.”

 


End file.
